What Happened To Annie?

I am forcing myself to sit down and write. I can hardly believe it's been almost two months since I posted to my blog. From May 20 through August 1 of this year, I was on a roll posting roughly every week...then nothing. What happened?

Life, habits, and fear...that’s what happened.

Life first got in the way when I went to California for a one-week business trip. Shortly thereafter, I flung myself into the one-month project of sorting through and moving my entire household. Since I am living with a girlfriend at her house, I loaned most of my furnishings to a friend for his apartment. In return, he stored the rest of my boxes and furniture in a spare room at his place. When he decided to move, I suddenly lost my free storage unit and needed to get myself organized in a hurry.

It’s now four weeks later. I’ve made two trips to Oregon to bring things to my Mom’s house; one trip to Spokane, Washington where my bedroom set has found a home at my best friend’s house; and five trips to Goodwill where lucky shoppers can now find great deals on everything from a set of IKEA shelves to a used tent.

Aside from a few odds and ends, I’m finished and I feel great...but it came at a price. I haven't spent much time writing, I've posted nothing to my blog, and I’ve felt an increasing sense of unease, even unhappiness, about letting my column fall to the wayside.

While the business project and move both took a lot of time, I can’t say they occupied every moment. In the past two months, I have also done yoga classes, visited friends, read books, and watched TV. And, yes, I spent some time writing, but not much. I started blog posts on two other topics, but the key word is “started.” I didn't finish them. Why?

In part, I think I simply got out of the habit. In early and mid-August, I still felt an imperative to write. I wanted time at the keyboard. I wanted the experience of hours evaporating in a blur and not caring whether I eat. I wanted to watch my ideas twist and turn in unforseen ways as the stories took on lives of their own. Writing is like a sandbox for me and words are the toys. As with all good games, time flies and I wanted more time to play.

But writing also takes a lot of mental energy, and as the days and weeks passed without time in my sandbox, I missed it less. It became easier and easier to find other things, easier things, to do. I didn't “feel” like writing as much. I had dozens of topics queued up, but not the energy to put fingers to keyboard. Writing felt more and more like a chore. The scale had tipped—writing went from being something I wanted to do to something that felt like an overdue homework assignment.

How did I let that happen?

This is where fear reared its ugly head. During the business trip in early August, I was introduced to Tim, the CFO of small technology company. As we shook hands, he said, “You're the Annie. I really like your blog!” I was dumbfounded. Over the past month, I had received online comments about my blog from distant friends of friends, so I knew I was developing a readership, but meeting Tim really hit it home—real people made of actual flesh and blood were reading my blog. I could shake their hands and look them in the eyes. What if those eyes turned out to be full of criticism instead of praise?

That same week, two more people that I had never heard of before sent me “Friend” requests on Facebook saying they were fans of my blog. Again, I was surprised and excited, but having people so previously unknown to me read my work and reach out to me was also outside of my comfort zone.

My blog was starting to have a following. That following was growing. If it kept growing, my dream of being “a writer” might come true. I could be a big success. I could also fail. I retreated.

I beat a swift trail back to the safety of my “to-do” list and wrapped myself in a warm and cozy “someday when” blanket. The dream of being a writer “someday” is much more comfortable to me than the reality of being a writer right now, so I curled up in a psychological blanket of “what ifs” and “someday whens.”

I told a friend about this and she relayed a similar story. She had lost an amazing 150 lbs with only 10 more to go to her goal weight. She was on the precipice of a new life. People commented on how great she looked and men turned an admiring eye. Her dream was coming true, but it was too much. Being thin and admired was outside of her comfort zone and if she didn’t have weight to lose, well, what would she do then? So, she let life and habits get in the way and packed on a comfortable 80 pounds. Ahhhhh, back into her own warm and cozy “someday when” blanket—someday when she gets her weight back down to where it was, then life will be good.

I think it’s fascinating that the idea of being a writer, the idea of being thin, or the idea of any kind of real success can be more alluring than the real thing. Can I free myself of this psychological trap? Can I turn things around in my mind and get used to the idea of being a successful writer and actually having confidence in my work?

Even as I write this, I feel like I’m about to jump off the edge of a cliff. Sure, people have told me they liked my other blog posts, but that was then. What about this one? What if people don’t like it?

The cozy blanket has let me wrap myself in my dreams of the future, but has kept me from realizing those dreams. Now that I’m aware of it, I have a choice. I can be like Linus from the Peanuts cartoons and always keep my blanket with me, one hand gripping it for safety, or I can let it go.

In this moment, I’m choosing to let go. After all, it’s hard to type while holding a blanket in one hand. I realize that I might pick up the blanket again, but maybe next time I’ll be quicker to put it down. And maybe someday I’ll just leave it folded in the closet, or better yet even throw it away.

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